


peace was never an option

by transfoggy (tranzgrantaire)



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Chronic Pain, Depression, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Living Together, M/M, Medications, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of past suicidal thoughts, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy, Work In Progress, a cat named Sushi, a lot less angst than there seems, lots of fluff, mental health recovery, mentions of hallucinations, slight Agoraphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-10-09 23:45:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tranzgrantaire/pseuds/transfoggy
Summary: When Matt gives up the mask to work on his mental and physical health, Foggy is right beside him, through sickness and in health. With a therapist, a loving partner, and tylenol, everything will be alright.





	1. pick me up, hose me down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Victorhu_gone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victorhu_gone/gifts).



> _pick me up, hose me down_   
>  _i'm sorry, boys, i've got the dirty night clowns ___  
>  _earth does break the things that we make ___  
>  _like model planes and cuppy cakes ___
> 
>  
> 
> //work title from x-men: first class  
> chapter one title from dirty night clowns by chris garneau  
>   
> 

Waking up is awful. Waking after a night of medically aided sleep, his body staying in one place too long, used to thrashing and waking periodically, is worse. He wakes up sweaty most nights, a combination of medication side effects, his body reacting to his near constant pain, and the only good thing Matt can think of: Foggy, warm and solid beside him in their too-small bed.

It’s bad this morning. Matt has to mentally prepare himself to move from the already-painful position on his stomach to another equally painful position on his side so he has a chance of getting out of bed and making it to the floor without hurting himself. When things were first getting bad, when he was frustrated and struggling to find a safer way to get down to the floor, he had just said _fuck it _and let himself fall off the side of the bed. It had ended in tears he couldn’t keep quiet, Foggy jumping up and joining him on the floor, asking him what the hell he was thinking, helping Matt straighten himself out.__

____

Once he was on the floor he could start stretching out his muscles; as painful as it was, it was the only thing that offered some relief as the day went on. More times that not, he’d also have pop his hip back into place. The fucker really didn’t like staying put.  
Matt held in a sob as he rolled onto his side, pain in his back triggering a spasm in his thigh which led to more gripping pain through his hip and up his side.

He was surprised the sounds of all his joints popping never woke Foggy up, to be honest, since it sounded borderline-horrific in the quiet morning atmosphere. Once he got to his side he had to push himself up to sitting, which alerted him to an uncomfortable clicking in his shoulder. One more thing to try and fix, he thought bitterly.

His therapist, Emilia, bless her, had said that his retirement from ‘martial arts’ and ‘gymnastics’ would lead to his body feeling worse, settling in to the abuse he’d put it through for all those years. He’d brushed it off: at the time it had been three months since ‘The End’, as Foggy had called it, that final night in the mask.  
Sure, he was in pain, he still wasn’t healed completely from the explosion and, he thought, it would just fade away into the dull ache that he was used to, that he brushed off before jumping off a low building and knocking a man unconscious.

Three months since ‘The End’ turned into a year, and Matt would argue he felt worse than he had before. But hey, he'd had no suicidal ideation 8 months and counting and 6 months of trauma therapy under his belt! Along with the Godly powers of antidepressants and sleeping pills, his mental health was on the come-up, but his now-chronic pain was pretty good at trying to ruin his decent moods. Foggy Nelson, however, was the God of good moods and it never really brought him down for all that long.  
Finally getting to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, Matt started to remember the nightmare that had woken him up.

_You have to process them, Matt. Burying them will only add to your anxiety. Emilia had said. ___

____

Matt tried to ignore the echoing shout in his head, _Come on, kill me! _His stomach turned and he counted to 14, thinking of the sun warming his face and Foggy pressing soft kisses over his eyelids.__

____

__

 

“Why 14? Is 10 uncomfortable for you?” Emilia had asked. It was his second appointment and she was listing techniques to calm him down, including counting to 10 or 20, but Matt had said, “14."  
He shrugged minutely, “Foggy’s birthday is the 14th, it’s always been a safe number for me.” Matt cleared his throat after; he really needed to get used to opening up like this. Emilia nodded, her hair brushing her shoulders. “14 it is then.”

 

Matt lowered himself to the floor, years of training keeping his movements silent as Foggy slept. He was thankful for the hardwood floor of their shared apartment: It was level, solid and didn’t make Matt think of the too-many near-death experiences he had bleeding out on his own concrete floor. When Matt and Foggy finally got their act together two months after ‘The End’ the first thing Matt wanted to do was find them an apartment, a new space that didn’t harbour horrible memories and that they could call their own.

They ended up with a small apartment, wooden floors and large windows that let in warm rays of sun over their beat up furniture. It wasn’t pretty and the hot water didn’t work half the time, but it was theirs. Living with someone again after ten years took some getting used to. Matt couldn’t help but be afraid Foggy would wake up one day and decide that Matt had done too much to hurt him, that he was done and he couldn’t do this anymore.

A surge of anxiety ran through Matt as he tried to get his arm over his head from his place on the floor. Great, so not only was it a bad pain day, but now he was also incredibly anxious.  
He felt his face warm and his eyes started to burn, his mind starting a vile loop of Foggy’s voice, filled with pain and anger.

_There is something seriously wrong with you. ___

____

__

The first tear ran down Matt’s temple and into his hair as he brought his right knee to his chest; he couldn’t, if pressed, go on record and say whether the last straw for the waterworks was the seething pain up his back or the haunting words echoing through his head. Matt’s right foot hit the floor too hard on the way down. Foggy stirred. The fact he woke Foggy up started a fresh round of tears and, fuck, now he’s really crying and he can’t think and his stomach hurts and—

“Matty?” Foggy’s sleep-thick voice gets closer, “Oh, babydoll.” His voice is soft and Matt tries to relax into it as Foggy slips onto the floor to join him, accidentally bringing the blanket down in the process. Suddenly, Foggy’s hands are on his face, his shoulders, in his hair, grounding him more than the floor beneath him ever could. The loop is getting faster and Matt feels like he’s about to throw up.  
“Talk to me, honey, please.” Matt snaps back to himself a little: Foggy is asking him something, probably to the effect of what’s happening, what’s wrong, what hurts the most? Matt chokes on his first few words and Foggy helps him sit up, tugging their blanket up around them.

“I-I had a nightmare, then I woke up and my back is hurting and—,” Matt pauses to let out a sob. Foggy rubs the tears off of his face and softly shushes him until he can continue. “I just started overthinking. About you leaving, deciding this is too much for you...” Matt tried to hang his head but it sent a bolt of pain down his back. He shot back up. Foggy laid a hand at the base of Matt’s neck to steady him, scooting closer.

“Count with me okay, Matty?” Foggy is still speaking in a hushed tone and Matt silently thanks him, his head is starting to hurt from his crying. Matt nods, “Okay.” he gets out and Foggy starts counting with him. He strokes the short hairs at the back of his neck and manages to get Matt’s forehead rested against his shoulder without hurting Matt too much. Wriggling to face each other there on the floor, the blanket from their bed tangles around their waists. Matt needed to eat, take his meds, and get ready for his appointment later that afternoon. The world could wait a while: Foggy had him and he would be okay.


	2. let me be your ride out of town, let me be the place that you hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _let me be your ride out of town  
>  let me be the place that you hide  
> we can make our lives on the go  
> run away with me ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from the song run away with me performed by aaron tveit (originally from the musical the mad ones)
> 
> CW: talks of weight gain and eating habits

"Scale of one to ten, my love?” Foggy asks from their tiny bathroom, his voice like a balm to any pain, mental or physical, and Matt almost starts crying again because he loves him so much. Matt usually can do this bit, fetching whatever level of pain relief he needs, getting his meds from his days-of-the-week container, but Foggy is more than happy to help him on rough mornings like this one. He really couldn’t be more grateful.

 

“...Seven? Maybe?” Matt says, getting up from the edge of the bed where Foggy left him after he had finished his stretches and stopped crying all over Foggy’s shirt. He headed over to join him in the bathroom. Matt heard a click as Foggy opened one of the sections on the pill container.

 

Foggy brought it home one day when Matt first started taking daily medications and it was proving to be useful; Matt kept getting frustrated with tipping all the little pills out of the bottles every morning and night, having to check and recheck badly-brailled labels and memorize the instructions, so this new system was warmly welcomed. Foggy had pressed it into his hand eagerly. “It’s blue! There’s braille on the lids for each of the days— did you know almost all of them had braille on them? How cool is that?!” 

 

Foggy clicks his tongue, “No, maybes, Murdock. Think on it a second, come gimme a kiss.” He turns to face Matt as he steps into the doorway. The two of them can’t really fit in there at the same time, but Matt smiles and obliges. Its early and they haven’t even brushed their teeth yet, but it’s sweet and warm and so full of love Matt’s chest hurts again for a different, far better reason. Matt laughs against Foggy’s mouth when he hears the tap turn on and a cup filling up below it. 

 

“How romantic of you,” he mock-sighs, running the back of his fingers over Foggy’s prickly cheek. Foggy steals one more little kiss before shutting the water off and bringing his hand up to Matt’s mouth.

 

“Don’t get smart, we all know we’ll both forget if we wait until after breakfast. Open up,   
sweetpea.” Foggy drops the two small pills in when Matt tilts his head back and opens his   
mouth but letting Matt drink the water himself, pressing the small plastic cup into his hand.   
Matt makes a face when he finishes the water, “I don’t even want to think about the stuff I taste   
in that.” Foggy snorts and opens up the cabinet above the sink.

 

Foggy twists open a bottle of tramadol, shakes a single pill out and, before Matt can say anything, breaks it in half with practiced ease. Matt hears Foggy shake his head, his hair swishing and brushing lightly against his shoulders. Its growing longer again and Matt appreciates how much easier it is to work out what his head is doing.

 

“I still don’t understand why you won’t take a whole one. I know you’ve told me but I just don’t get it, honey.” Foggy sighs. He still has days where Matt makes him want to scream, but he loves him way too much to fall back into that; They’re both recovering. He still can’t seem to understand why Matt feels the need to ' _ keep some of the pain around.' _

 

“If I take a whole one I feel too unaware of my body, like I might hurt myself because I don’t know where my legs or arms are. I’m so used to the pain that without a little ache I get... overwhelmed.” Matt finishes, leaning over to rest his forehead against Foggy’s shoulder, his safe spot. He doesn’t mind explaining these things to Foggy as much as he needs; to be honest he’s still baffled most days that Foggy even cares. Matt pushes those thoughts away when Foggy slides his fingers into his hair.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.” He brings his empty hand up to scratch at Matt’s scalp. It’s easy to forget how sensitive Matt is to pain medication, due to his senses and all. “Hey, I love you.” Foggy says, pressing a kiss into Matt’s hair, and he mumbles back a little “Love you more.”

Foggy lets out a light laugh, “Those are fightin’ words, punk.”

*

Matt loves the mornings the most, loves the way the sun comes through their windows, creates warm streaks across his skin. He loves sitting cross-legged on the floor in the doorway of the bathroom while Foggy shaves and contemplating what he wants to eat for breakfast. Foggy took pride in the 20 pounds Matt had gained since ‘The End’. Matt wasn’t eating to be in fighting shape anymore: he was eating because food was good and not being suicidal does wonders for your appetite.

 

One of the first mornings in their new apartment, Foggy asked Matt what he wanted for breakfast and Matt took a while to respond. Foggy thought he had dozed back off until he lifted his head and mumbled, “Eggo waffles… aaannd nutella and... orange juice.” Foggy nodded, “Back in ten minutes.”

 

Foggy had indeed come back in ten minutes with grocery bags from the bodega down the street. When Foggy set the bags down and started pulling out his eggos, nutella and juice, Matt shed a few real tears over how loved he felt.

 

This was one of the good mornings. After Matt took his pain meds he grabbed a small blanket from the couch and sat down in the doorway while Foggy got his stuff together to shave. The doorway sitting started a few months ago when Matt woke up from a horrible nightmare and was adamant he couldn’t stand being more than two feet from Foggy. It was cosy, the repetitive noises and whatever musical soundtrack Foggy decided they were listening to that morning playing through the speakers in the living room. It was Phantom Of The Opera today.

“Did you have a nightmare or did you just feel anxious when you woke up?” Foggy asks, tapping his razor against the sink. The water running helps Matt organize his thoughts.

“Nightmare… Fisk screaming, telling me to—“ Matt has to pause to suck in a shaky breath. “It was just a lot and my back was really hurting and it just all clumped together, you know?” Matt shifted to pull his knees to his chest, stretching his back delightfully and letting the action push out the bad thoughts again. Foggy hummed, “Make sure to tell Emilia, yeah? Tell her I said hello, as always.”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, I will.”

Matt pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders. It was a child’s blanket, really; Foggy told him it had puppies on it. He had no idea of course, they just found it in the store when they were feeling around for a small blanket Matt could take around the house with him, instead of the comforter they kept having to wash because Matt would accidently drag it through something.

*

They were roaming the bedding aisle, stroking everything within arm's reach, when Matt ran his fingers over something so soft it made him gasp. Not only was it incredibly soft, there were also variations in the texture. Probably shapes, maybe a pattern. Matt picked it up and felt around the outside of the rolled up blanket. He just couldn’t stop running his hands over it: there were two textures, one just the slightest bit different from the other. Maybe longer? Softer? Foggy came up beside him from where he’d been looking on the other side of the aisle, stroking it himself. “Oh that’s so cool! There’s puppies on it, they feel different! Could you tell?” Foggy informed him. Matt hesitated for a second before bringing the corner of the blanket up to his face and rubbing it there softly. It was one of the softest things he’d ever felt. He held it to his chest tightly, “I want this one.” He said softly. Foggy nodded, “Puppy blanket it is, my love.”

*

Matt didn’t mind that it had puppies on it, he just adored how soft it was, and how warm. Softness had become a very important thing for him, it felt so opposite to the lycra and leather he wrapped around himself during his time in the mask. His clothes had changed, most noticeably. Not only were they more casual, since he spent most of his days at home, but they were softer, and had textures that calmed his chaotic thoughts. His favourite was still old tattered hoodie Foggy wore through college; no matter how many times Matt wore it, it never stopped smelling like Foggy. Matt wore the hoodie to therapy a lot, Emelia had called it a ‘comfort item’. Matt liked the sound of that.

 

As Matt shifted again, he felt a pull in his thigh that forced him to hold his breath for a few seconds to keep from making a sound, “Can we go to the Y after therapy? Go swimming?” Matt asked as Foggy was finishing up, patting his face dry. 

Foggy nodded, “Yeah, that sounds great, baby.” Foggy reached a hand down to help ease Matt off the floor. With Foggy helping him it wasn’t too hard to get up, and a with few twists to pop a place in his back Matt was ready to eat breakfast and get ready for his appointment with Emilia—just one more thing left to do.

 

Matt blocked Foggy as he went to leave the bathroom, bracing his arms in the doorframe, blanket over one shoulder, “What’s the password?” Matt asks, trying and failing to hide a smile. Foggy giggled and slid his arms around Matt’s middle, giving him a squeeze, their noses touching. Foggy kissed him sweetly. “You always say password, kisses aren’t words you need a new excuse for kisses.” Foggy said against his mouth, pressing another kiss to the corner of Matt's lips, then to his cheek, his jaw and finally the most ticklish part of his neck. Matt squeaked, pushing Foggy away with no real force behind it. Foggy let him go anyway, slipping past him to go to the kitchen, and Matt followed behind, still giggling.

 

“You’re a cheater, kisses were not the password!” Matt accused, pushing himself up to sit on the countertop. Foggy giggled again, it was a giggly morning. “You know I fight dirty, Matty.” Foggy said, pressing a few button on the coffee maker before going to stand between Matt’s legs. Matt smiled, bringing his hands up to brush his fingers through Foggy’s silky hair, “Oh yeah?” Foggy turned his head to press a kiss to Matt’s wrist, eyes sparkling. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chapter two ! i wasn't planning on multiple chapters spanning one day but here we are  
> comments/kudos give me 10 hp and are greatly appreciated


	3. i’ll give a thousand apologies for a thousand hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i’ll give a thousand apologies for a _thousand hurts__   
>  _the forest is on fire but we're gonna let it _burn__   
>  _we're controlling it_   
>  _we've got it handled_   
>  _thanks for your concern_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mentions of stabbing, mentions of blood, mentions canonical minor character death (jack murdock)  
> chapter title: Forest Fire by AJJ

Therapy was never easy. Never. Even in ‘easy’ appointments, hours spent relaying good news, good nights of sleep, days with less pain, it was like a coated wire being stripped. The rubber coating torn off, delicate filaments ready for use, ready to be soldered into new places, twisted into new positions. It was easy for people who have never been to trauma therapy to say they felt better after their appointments: you never know what it’s like until it’s you.

 

*

 

Matt always liked that he could walk to Emilia’s office, it was only a few blocks and it was nice to be out of the house, even if it caused him anxiety. Matt worked from home, did physical therapy at home, had nights in with Foggy  _ at home _ .

 

Matt liked being at home: he could go into the bathroom and get a tylenol; he could go lay down in his and Foggy’s bed and shove his face into Foggy’s pillow until he no longer felt like his lungs were on fire; he could even hide out in the bathroom with the shower running and try and drown out the noises of the street below.

 

Being at home, in  _ his and Foggy’s home _ , meant safety, meant no passing the various scenes of near fatal injuries, meant controlling his sensory environment.

 

Even going to Emilia’s office was too much sometimes, especially when she decided to bring up Matt’s dad, which was exactly what she was doing now.

 

“It wasn’t your fault, Matt.” Emilia says softly, Matt doesn’t say anything; he’s been crying for what felt like hours, though he knows it’s only been twenty minutes. The first half hour had been tolerable, rattling off about the various nightmares he’d had since last week and retelling his coping routine. Now Emilia has brought up Matt’s dad, and Matt broke pretty quickly.

 

“Your dad made a decision and a horrible man took his life. It was neither his fault, nor yours.” Matt shakes his head.

 

“You were a factor in his decision, you were a piece of the puzzle he put together himself. You were just a child, Matt. You had no control of his actions or the actions of the man who took him from you.” Matt lets out a sob at that and shifts, tucking his right leg under him. His hip was hurting horribly and he wanted to go home, but Foggy wasn’t home. He was at work with Karen.

 

Matt wipes at his face with his sleeves, choking on a few more sobs, getting out a barely there, “I know.” Matt did know his dad’s death wasn’t his fault, it just didn’t stop the darkest corners of his mind from periodically screaming it at him. As Emilia starts wrapping up, Matt feels his watch: they only have six minutes left.

 

“Remember, forgiving yourself isn’t a one time event, Matt. Forgiveness is a long game, you have to decide every day, ever hour even, that you will forgive yourself.” It was something she said every appointment; it was never any less of a balm.

 

Matt sniffled, holding in the rest of his tears, his hyperventilating breaths jostling him every few seconds. Matt nods.  _ God, he just wants to go home, get in bed and wait for Foggy to come back home. Get in bed and wait for Foggy to come back home. Get in bed and wait for Foggy to come back home. _

 

Matt repeated the sentence in his head on his on the short walk back, his breathing evening out about halfway there, his eyes slowly drying up.

 

*

 

Foggy drove it into his head constantly that he shouldn’t feel bad about working from home. Emilia told him the same thing; He was doing more work than he ever did at the office, actually having the time to  _ work,  _ rather than constantly worrying about whose life was in danger because he wasn’t out protecting them.

 

It wasn’t that he was scared to leave the house, exactly. It’s more that he was scared to go places where he was once a different version of himself. Last week he and Foggy had walked past an assumedly innocent alleyway that had Matt shivering and softly begging to go home. Foggy held him close the whole walk home, promising that they wouldn’t walk this way anymore. Later, when they’d returned home, Foggy delicately asked what had happened to him there.

 

“I got stabbed… I thought I was done.” Matt tries to take a deep breath, chokes on the first two, and gets the air into his lungs on the third try. They’re on their small couch, Matt sideways, legs over Foggy’s lap. Foggy squeezes just above his knee to remind him he’s listening without interrupting.

 

“Claire was gone by this point, I knew I had to get home and stop the bleeding but I was so... scared, Foggy, I was shaking so bad and there was  _ so much blood _ .” Matt’s crying freely now. Foggy reaches up to wipe at the tears on his face. Matt catches his hand and holds it to his cheek.

 

“You’re safe now, Matty. No one's ever gonna hurt you again, not if I can help it.” Foggy says softly, brushing his thumb across Matt’s cheekbone, tracing tiny scars and irregularities.

“Where did the scars on your cheek come from?” He asks softly. When they first started dating Matt had told Foggy if there was ever anything he wanted to know, that Foggy should ask him and he would answer as best as he could.

 

“I jumped out of a window.” Matt sniffles, chuckling but audibly broken. “It was my only choice, bullets were flying, so I jumped  _ through _ a glass window. Into the Hudson. In the winter.” Matt laughs this time, still a little snotty. “I don’t know how I survived…” He trails off, voice soft again.

 

“But you did, and now we’re here, in _ our _ pajamas, on  _ our _ sofa, in  _ our _ apartment, living  _ our  _ peaceful life.” Foggy smiles and Matt almost cries again.

 

*

 

Matt gets home after his slow walk back from therapy, toeing off his shoes and setting his glasses and cane by the front door. His throat hurts from stifling cries through the last few minutes of his session as Emilia wrapped things up. His stomach hurts too, for some reason. He needs to take another dramamine.

 

Matt is pouring himself a glass of juice when he hears a little meow from the fire escape.

_ Sushi! _ Matt thinks, diving into the cupboard and grabbing one of the small cans of cat food. Matt double checked the magnetic label on top of the can to make sure it was her favourite, sticking it to the fridge on his way to the window.

 

Matt nudged the window open with his elbow, pulling the pull tab on the can and dutifully trying to ignore the smell. He tracked Sushi’s little heartbeat as she wandered over to where Matt was climbing out of the window. Not as graceful as he used to be.

 

“Hey, Sushi, I brought you chicken.” Matt said softly, mindful of his neighbors who had their window open a few feet away. Sushi meowed loudly, rubbing her face over Matt’s hand as he sat down, placing the open can in front of the cat. “Hey, baby.” He said fondly when Sushi decided she’d rather get pets then eat her food. After a few moments of petting Sushi padded a few inches over and began to eat her food.

 

She hadn’t been around since Monday and it was Thursday now. Matt swiftly ran his hands over her spine and hips, making sure she wasn’t injured or losing weight, something he knew often came from a life out in Hell's Kitchen. She thankfully was as well as he could be, begrudgingly living on the street.

 

 

Foggy has the thin scar on his hand from when they tried to bring her inside once, adamant on getting her to the vet and out of the cold. It turned out Sushi had lived her whole little life on the streets and she Did Not Want to be inside. Matt respected that. So, every other day, Sushi would clamber up the fire escape, meow to let whoever was inside know she was there to visit, and get showered with love and food until she hopped back down to have more adventures: at least, that’s what Matt hoped she was out there doing.

 

Matt assumed she got food from other places. Dumpsters, people on the street who have a little extra and can’t resist what Foggy calls,  _ ‘the saddest little face I’ve seen since you last got stabbed’ _ . Either way, Matt always made sure she had her favourite food when she came meowing.

 

Matt listened to Sushi eat her food, wincing every once and a while when another wave of pain would shoot through his hip, but Sushi didn’t seem to mind. Just when Matt was starting to wonder where Foggy was he heard his partner coming up the front steps of their apartment building.

 

“Foggy’s home!” He smiled, hearing Sushi’s questioning _ mrow,  _ making his way back through the window. Thankfully, it was open this time.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow ok so, i havent posted in a very long time. i went through two major depressive episodes back to back and then decided ‘i guess im writing a novel!’ so my hurt comfort had to take a backseat to other hurt comfort. anyway, i hope you enjoy this chapter! kudos/comments are appreciated and give me +5 hp

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first posted fic in about six years and my first work in the daredevil fandom so pls be nice, also the biggest thank u to my wife who helped me edit my horrible sentence structure and punctuation. comments/kudos give me 10 hp and are super appreciated <3


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